


we're a ticking time bomb (so let's go out with a bang)

by FoM



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: And feels, F/F, Smut, and a bit of angst, with plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:56:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6152917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoM/pseuds/FoM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the 3x07 promo, leaks, and spoilers. My take on the long awaited Clexa sexy times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're a ticking time bomb (so let's go out with a bang)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, all. :)
> 
> This is my first story for Clexa/The 100. I've written for other fandoms before, but decided to start fresh with a new account. 
> 
> I have a couple of other fics in the works at the moment, but this is the first thing that I actually managed to finish. And just in time before the episode.
> 
> I hope you like it! :)
> 
> \---------------  
> Translations (that you all already probably know)
> 
> sha - yes  
> meizen - beautiful  
> beja - please

She’s struggling to understand how and why things seem to always go wrong. Even when it looks like everything is going well and another crisis has been averted, there’s a twist waiting around the corner. And the stakes keep getting higher and higher.

They’ve never been as high as they are in this moment. And once again, she’s supposed to fix it.

She’s supposed to play her role and play it well.

And so the mighty Wanheda is standing here in the Commander’s bedroom, looking out the window, trying to count the times she’s pulled the Sky people from the edge of a cliff. Trying to figure out if she can do it again.

With each breath she takes, that little flicker of hope that lives in her heart threatens to extinguish. Because this is too complicated, and too many lines have been crossed; too many lives lost. There are too many variables to consider and what she needs is quiet, but she will not be afforded that courtesy today. Not when Titus and Lexa are arguing in raised voices just down the hall - close enough for Clarke to hear them, but too far to understand - and the clamor in the throne room refuses to die down.

“Clarke?”

She turns gingerly to see Lexa on the other end of the room, standing in the doorway. Her shoulders are just a tiny bit slumped, her hands at her sides, her mouth pulled downwards. She looks so very tired. Still, her eyes are as alive as they’ve ever been and even if she’s exhausted, she doesn’t seem resigned. Never that.

Clarke watches her as she takes a step into the room, turning slightly to close the door behind her. Several more strides, and the Commander of the Twelve Clans is standing in front of her. Or is she?

How many people have been given an opportunity to see Lexa like this? Without her red sash, no weapons strapped to her body, her body language lacking the usual air of authority and superiority. Just Lexa, standing in her bedroom.

“I have to go with them,” Clarke says, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes once again looking out the window, at the city below them.

A low, “No,” is all she gets in response.

“Lexa-”

“ _No_.”

She looks up then, and she could swear Lexa is closer than she was just a moment before. There is fire in her green eyes, and the sharp lines of her face don’t seem so tired anymore.

“You know you can’t go,” she says in a softer voice.

“You know I have to,” Clarke responds without missing a beat.

A sigh escapes those full lips and the green is covered for a bit as Lexa takes a moment to steady herself.

“I have to try, Lexa. I _have_ to.”

“The army is marching and if your people don’t agree to my terms, I-” Another sigh. Another moment. “This can only end two ways, Clarke.”

Indeed. The army of the Twelve Clans is marching on Arkadia as they speak, on their way to lay siege on the camp. When the Commander addressed her people earlier that day and declared that the warriors are not to attack, but wait and see if the Sky people respond to the demands made, there was an uproar. So much bloodthirst crammed into that one room, so many people asking for vengeance. And yet Lexa stood there, solid like a rock, her voice bellowing across the room about vengeance not being justice. About new ways and the future of their children.

And Clarke was there with her heart in her throat and eyes closed, in the midst of chaos. Titus said their people would never accept it, and each second in that room made her think he may very well have been right.

So she slipped out and walked until her legs led her to this room. Away from the anger, and yelling, and cries for war. Why this room and not her own? It’s obvious at this point, but it doesn’t mean she wants to linger on it if she doesn’t have to.

“I won’t die,” Clarke says with false determination that tastes like acid on her tongue. “It will not come to that.” Bile burns its way through her throat. “They will accept.” She takes a big breath. “They _have_ to.”

“And if they don’t?” Lexa’s voice is raising now. “If time runs out and they start the attack? With _you_ in there? What _then_ , Clarke?” Her breathing is hard and fast, the look in her eyes scalding against the blonde’s face.

It’s both fascinating and frustrating, really. How easily the stoic mask slips whenever they’re alone and how quickly her face betrays all the emotions bubbling beneath. How easy it is to read her and, if she’s being honest, Clarke has to admit that it’s only easy because she lets her.

“Just trust me, please.”

It’s all she can say because she needs Lexa to let her do this. She needs her to understand the way she always does.

“I don’t trust _them_.”

Clarke tries to ignore the way her heart skips a beat at the indirect admission.

“Neither do I,” she says with a sigh and a shake of her head. “Which is why I have to go.”

She holds her breath as seconds pass while they stand there like statues, holding each other’s gaze, neither one looking away; neither one making a move or saying a word. There is turmoil in those pools of green, and the strong jaw below them is working restlessly.

Lexa tilts her head towards the ceiling, eyelids fluttering - but not fast enough for Clarke to miss the water collecting behind them - a shaky breath leaving her lips.

And then their eyes lock again and a hand stretches into the space between them, palm open and waiting.

“May we meet again,” is said in a voice that is soft, but heavy with fear and memories.

Clarke swallows hard as her eyes skip between Lexa’s face and the hand that is almost touching her stomach. The last time she heard those words, there were no handshakes or agreements. There was only a single tear running down Lexa’s bloodied face and then that too was replaced with her back as she walked away, leaving the young Sky leader to stand atop a dark mountain all alone and hopeless.

She can feel her own tears well up in her eyes even while - as if on autopilot - her own body springs into action and her fingers wrap around the brunette’s forearm. She steadies herself before looking up again, her grip never faltering.

No words are spoken and neither woman seems to have any intention of letting go. Neither one wants to walk away because the last time they did that, hopes and dreams were crushed, innocents died, and Wanheda was born. If this too goes wrong and those words are confirmed to be a curse rather than a blessing, it will probably be the end of them.

And as the realization of that dark truth hits Clarke square in the chest, she decides to take one last leap of faith. Because she’s so very tired of running, and so very done with wars she can’t win.

She pulls Lexa towards her, letting out a little gasp as their bodies collide and, before she has time to think it through - before she has time to run again - presses their lips together.

They break the hold on each other’s arms only for Clarke’s hands to find their way to Lexa’s neck, trying to diminish the non-existent distance between them even more. She can feel hands on her hips, the way they desperately clutch at the fabric of her shirt and dig into her skin.

This kiss is different from their first one: where that one was slow and gentle, this one is desperate and needy; where that one was a calm morning breeze, this one is a storm wanting to destroy everything in its path.

Where that one was a question, this one is a promise.

A promise they have to keep, because the alternative is something neither wants to imagine.

Clarke pushes Lexa towards the bed behind her, never breaking contact, not even when the slow whimpers leaving both their mouths threaten to set her on fire.  

The brunette’s calves connect with the side of the bed, forcing her to sit down and Clarke straddles her lap in one swift move before their mouths connect again. Hands grab whatever they can reach and they are fire, and storm, and yearning, and need.

Until Lexa pulls away just enough to connect their foreheads and put her hands on Clarke’s warm cheeks. Her breathing is labored and her eyes are a dark green, as piercing as they’ve ever been.

“Clarke,” she exhales and the blonde drinks in the warm breath caressing her lips. “Are you sure?”

Clarke pulls back then, just a fraction, just so she can take in Lexa’s whole face. So she can take a proper look at teeth digging into a plump lip, a slightly furrowed brow, and those eyes that are wide and stormy, but so soft; full of wonder, want, and a healthy dose of fear.

And the blonde understands.

This is coming at the heels of a betrayal, a half-hearted assassination attempt, and so many harsh words spit out through clenched teeth. But also quiet moments of tentative connection, barely there nods of agreement, and smiles given freely when the sky high walls would come down for a fraction of time.

There is a hidden part of Clarke’s soul that has always known that this is inevitable. That the moment she was brought before Lexa - bound, gagged, and hurt in more ways than one - was the moment her fate was sealed. She had wanted to run so badly; not just because she yearned for the safety and solitude the woods provided, but also because she didn’t trust the torrent of emotions that overwhelmed her battered heart that day.

And there are so many things she wants to say, so many thoughts that she wants to share, but many of them are big, deep, dark, and scary and they threaten to get stuck in her chest. And she’s not ready for that to happen.

So she offers a smile instead; a warm and sincere one that reaches her eyes.

Action has always been her forte so it’s only fitting that that’s the case this time, as well.

She smiles even wider when she reaches for the hem of her shirt and Lexa’s eyes follow the movement intently, her mouth opening slightly as her hands settle in her lap.

A warmth spreads through Clarke’s whole body as those blown pupils slowly trace their way across the exposed expanse of flesh after the shirt has been discarded on the floor. They move up painstakingly slow, pausing briefly when they see breasts straining against a simple bra and Clarke feels the urge to chuckle because she’s sitting in the lap of the Commander of the Twelve Clans, the most powerful woman on Earth - Earth the blonde has no business being on in the first place - with her shirt on the floor and said Commander has to visibly swallow before finally meeting her eyes again.

Warmth turns into fire when Clarke sees pure hunger in those darkened eyes, and for a second she wonders how deep the pool of Lexa’s control truly is. She doesn’t know the answer, but she does know that the brunette just needs one more little push.

So she gives it to her.

Taking one of Lexa’s hands, she slowly puts the open palm on her breast, just over her heart, hoping that its frantic beating will be confirmation enough. She doesn’t miss the way those fingers tremble and twitch slightly as they settle atop her skin.

They share one last moment of false calmness and sincere understanding before Lexa’s arms reach around her and then she’s on her back, soft furs caressing her skin as the brunette settles between her legs and kisses her with abandon.  

They are a flurry of moans and gasps, hands reaching out blindly, legs wrapping around hips, and they are wearing too much clothes and there is too little skin to touch.

So Lexa pulls back and Clarke’s body seems to have a mind of its own because its instinct is to raise off the bed slightly, trying to reconnect. She falls back into the furs and pillows just a moment later, her eyes transfixed on the kiss-bruised lips that seem even fuller than they normally are.

Lexa is kneeling on the bed, her breathing slowing down as she regains some semblance of control. Clarke’s legs are still touching her sides and the blonde feels a bolt of lightning in her core as those nimble fingers start working on the buttons of her pants. They are sure and quick to undo them, but slow and careful as they pull the rough fabric down. Eyes rake over the newly exposed skin, and she seems to be almost in some kind of a trance because there is a look of confusion on her face - that once again makes Clarke want to laugh - when the pants refuse to come off all the way. Lexa is actually the one to chuckle when she realizes she hadn’t taken off the blonde’s shoes and it’s an endearing sight that brings a smile to Clarke’s lips as well.

Once that has been dealt with and before the Commander can resume her journey of discovery, Clarke sits up because one of them is still wearing too much clothes and she’s determined to fix that, too impatient to wait any longer. She looks up at the woman kneeling in front of her and their lips connect again off their own accord.

This time the kiss is slower, gentler. Clarke pays special attention to Lexa’s lower lip, biting lightly and then soothing with her tongue. Her hands slip under the shirt that’s hiding what she wants to see and she spends some time just running them up and down the expanse of Lexa’s back. She breaks the kiss then, trying to ignore the need between her legs that’s aching to be relieved, and slowly raises the fabric.

Taking her time, enjoying the moment, knowing firsts happen only once.

When the shirt isn’t in the way anymore, she’s faced with Lexa’s slightly heaving chest, mostly covered with a worn black bra, her eyes drawn to little beads of sweat in the valley of her breasts. She closes her eyes and traces the salty skin with her lips, smiling when she hears a quiet moan and feels Lexa’s head fall back.

Without breaking contact, her hands find the clasp at the back and remove the undergarment it’s holding together. Fingers tangle into Clarke’s hair as she takes a hard nipple into her mouth, tasting and sucking, and when a strangled moan tumbles out of the brunette, her legs attempt to close on their own, only to be stopped by Lexa’s hips. A light tug on the blonde strands makes her pull back and look up at a barely there smirk before she’s being pushed back down into the furs.

She doesn’t fight it because Lexa is mesmerizing in the way she gently lowers her body on top of Clarke’s, and the way she smiles as she looks at lips aching to be kissed.

Clarke’s breathing picks up, making her chest heave and her heart feel like it’s trying to claw its way out of her body when Lexa’s hands start ridding her of her last two pieces of clothing.

The blonde doesn’t miss the way green eyes widen at her exposed breasts, nor the low rumble in the brunette’s throat as she wraps her lips around soft flesh. Clarke arches into the touch, lifting off the bed slightly, swallowing hard. Those wandering hands find her hips then, and she allows Lexa to take off her underwear.

The woman then starts her slow descent down Clarke’s torso, touching, nipping, marking. Her hands splay out over the blonde’s chest as she twirls her tongue around her navel, before continuing further south.

Just when she is about to dip her head between strong thighs, a hand grips her shoulder.

“Wait,” Clarke breathes out.

She wraps her fingers around Lexa’s upper arm and tugs on it lightly.

Brown eyebrows furrow for a moment before the brunette makes her way back up to the pillows, settling at Clarke’s side, supporting herself on an elbow.

“Are you okay?” she whispers, as gentle fingers find Clarke’s hot cheek.

The blonde nods quickly, closing her eyes to steady herself.

“I just need y-” the words die in her suddenly dry mouth. “You’ll do that next time, yeah?”

It’s a desperate plea, even if Clarke tries not to make it sound like one. There’s no masking the way her body slightly trembles or the way her voice cracks. The way she needs there to be a next time; the way she needs Lexa there, as close as possible. The way she needs to feel her, alive, well, happy.

Understanding is written across Lexa’s face immediately, and her warm eyes turn just a little glassy before she smiles and nods.

Clarke releases the breath she didn’t know she was holding, grateful for the way the other woman just knows and doesn’t question; the way she always strives to give her what she needs.

That point is driven home when Lexa takes a moment to remove her underwear, blue and green locked onto each other throughout.

She returns quickly, putting an arm under Clarke’s head, cradling her close.

The sun-kissed skin smells like leather and earth, and there’s a kind of comfort in that scent that reminds the blonde of home. When the little voice in her head asks her where exactly home is, she doesn’t have time to think about it because Lexa is putting a leg over one of her own and there is heat and wetness on her thigh immediately, tearing a gasp from her parted lips. They share a content sigh at the way their bodies meld together, the skin on skin touch both exhilarating and calming at the same time.

The kiss that comes next is deep and longing, passion making itself known through the way their tongues trace patterns; the way teeth graze lips; the way hands touch and explore all they can reach.

It’s a sweet type of torture - the way Lexa skips nothing; the way she lets her hand roam up and down Clarke’s side until it settles on a breast, strong fingers kneading it before they focus on an aching nipple; the way her lips descend to the blonde’s neck, teasing the sensitive skin there with her tongue and feather-like kisses, only to suck hard on a raging pulse-point a moment later.

And as Clarke holds onto her, her limbs vibrating and her breathing ragged, a different kind of warmth spreads through her body when she realizes this is less about teasing and more about loving - loving every inch of her; taking care of her in a way only a person with Lexa’s control could.

The way only Lexa can.

Their eyes lock again when a hand starts its slow descent down Clarke’s torso. Lexa is so close that Clarke can feel her hot breath on her own lips and she looks so beautiful in this moment - mouth slightly open, pupils blown but so focused on the lines of Clarke’s face, skin slightly glistening in the candle light.

And then long slender fingers finally find their target and they both inhale audibly at the contact.

Clarke has had sex before, but never like this. Never while being held like she is the most precious thing in the world; never with a woman whispering sweet nothings in a foreign language in her ear, and she has most certainly never had to blink back tears during the act.

Lexa notices, but once again doesn’t draw attention to it. Simply smiles and connects their lips once more, her enthusiastic fingers drawing patterns in Clarke’s wetness.

It is impossible to distinguish which one of the two moans when the digits slowly go inside - most probably both - and the sounds are quickly lost and swallowed in another kiss, Lexa setting a moderate pace, somehow getting it just right on her first try.  

As seconds pass and the feeling builds somewhere in Clarke’s core, she breaks the kiss because the action is too complicated right now - in this moment where she can barely keep her eyes open, but she does because she doesn’t want to miss anything. Especially not the way Lexa’s teeth dig into her lower lip as she moves against the blonde’s leg, her control obviously faltering.

It’s all a bit too much, and Clarke acts on instinct then - because at this point that’s all she’s really capable of - and lets one of her hands join Lexa’s, providing herself with some much needed friction on the outside of her sex. Green eyes follow this movement intently and when they return, there’s a hunger in them that makes Clarke’s breath hitch in her throat.

“Lexa,” she says, in a voice thick with need. “ _Please_. I-”

The sentence ends in a low moan when Lexa picks up her pace, teasing that one special spot that brings the blonde right to the very edge.

And when the brunette whispers, “ _Sha_ , Clarke. Let go,” with wonder in her eyes and a smile on her lips, that’s exactly what Clarke does.

Her back arches off the bed as the climax ravages through her body, moaned curses spilling out of her mouth, her hand blindly grabbing for purchase, for support, for Lexa. And she’s right there, pulling her in close, once again whispering in her native language. She holds her until the tremors subside, until Clarke’s ragged breathing calms, and until they’re looking at each other again.

“ _Meizen_ ,” Lexa says before planting a soft kiss on the blonde’s forehead.

Her lips linger there and Clarke closes her eyes, inhaling deeply, still hearing her heart drumming away in her ears.

After another moment spent in silence, content in Lexa’s arms, she becomes acutely aware of their position and the fact that her leg is still between the other woman’s. She shifts just a bit, just enough to firmly press into Lexa, and when the brunette gasps at the contact, she can’t help but grin.

So many of their interactions are serious, so many times they have roles to play, and things always seem to hang in an unstable balance. Moments of peace are rare, but moments like this one… Well, this is most definitely a first because Lexa chuckles at her devilish little smirk and it might be the most wonderful thing she’s ever seen.

She puts her hand on the underside of the brunette’s thigh then, marveling at the firmness she finds there. Guiding Lexa into straddling her hips, she sits up and wraps her arms around her, holding her close. When their foreheads connect, she lets her hands travel down smooth skin and some hills and valleys - reminders of all the times the Commander was strong and never weak - until they settle on round hips.

She guides her then and Lexa follows - her arms wrap around Clarke’s shoulders as those hips start rolling, strong muscles working under the blonde’s fingertips.

She’s wet and Clarke can feel the evidence just below her navel, in that spot where their bodies are creating wonderful friction.

This moment threatens to short the blonde’s brain because _Lexa_ is naked, sitting in her lap, moaning softly and in this moment she is probably as vulnerable as she’s ever been. She’s bare in more ways than one and it’s all for Clarke. She’s let go of all her masks and control. For Clarke. Clarke is the one that gets to see and experience it.

The intensity of that realization threatens to choke the breath out of her, so the blonde moves as well. She peppers little kisses along Lexa’s shoulder, dipping below only to go up again. Her tongue draws a line up the side of her neck and the brunette gasps when she touches the spot just behind her ear. Clarke smiles into it and then her left hand is moving into the small space between their bodies, quickly finding its destination.

Lexa pulls back then, seeking eye contact and a forehead touch again, as the blonde starts stroking her delicate flesh.

Heat builds up inside of Clarke as well, and the intensity in green eyes makes her stomach flip.

Lexa is stunning like this. Her skin glistening in the warm light, her lips parted, eyes struggling to stay open. The most captivating thing about her, however, is just how much of an open book she is in this moment. How much she’s letting Clarke see.

It’s wonderful the way she trembles slightly and the way her fingers dig into Clarke’s shoulders when fingers circle her entrance. Once, twice. Teasing and probing.

“Beja, Clarke,” she gasps. “ _Beja_.”  

Even if she wanted to, Clarke couldn’t say no to that. So she enters her then, marveling at how easily her fingers slide inside. She’s warm and wet and tight, and she’s gasping and clenching and begging, and Clarke does her best to give her all she needs.

Lexa doesn’t last long and it’s both endearing and a compliment to Clarke.

She builds and builds and builds and then she freezes in place. Her eyes are closed and she’s stopped breathing, causing a vein in her neck to bulge out from the strain. Clarke gives her more purchase with an arm that she wraps behind her back and then she picks up the pace of her fingers as much as she can.

Several seconds pass before it happens.

A strangled cry fills up the silence of the room, and Lexa lurches forward, gasping and grabbing onto Clarke, as her body convulses. Tremor after tremor making her limbs vibrate as she rides it out against the blonde’s hand, her fingers still inside.

She calms down slowly, and Clarke simply cradles her in her arms, caressing her damp back.

They stay like that until Lexa shivers, prompting Clarke to lay them back down and cover them with furs.

* * *

She has to leave, she really does. She should get up and get dressed because her people are probably already waiting for her.

But Lexa is soft and warm in her arms, and she’s kissing her like she’s saying hello and goodbye at the same time. It tastes like _‘please’_ and feels like _‘promise’_ , and it’s too much and too little all at once.

They both know, though. In a couple of minutes, Clarke will get up and do her duty. Lexa will do the same.

But not yet.

“I promise,” Clarke whispers before pressing her lips against Lexa’s, and deepening the kiss a moment later.

She ignores the wetness on her cheek, not even wondering whose it is. Judging by the tightness in her throat and a small whimper that Lexa exhales, the answer is both.

She means it, though. For all the promises she’s broken, all the lines she’s crossed, and all the ways she’s changed in the past several months, Clarke feels like she’s found something solid - something that makes her want to stop wandering, stop running.

So she will return and she will do so for one simple truth:

This city, this bedroom, this woman? This is home.

**Author's Note:**

> How was that? :) Feel free to drop me a comment here or come say hi at feather-of-maat.tumblr.com. :)
> 
> Special thanks to my Ninja for being a beta and putting up with me. :)


End file.
